


Put Away Wet

by FunAndWhimsy



Series: Kinkmeme Fills [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ass to Mouth, Face-Fucking, Gags, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spit Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25459084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunAndWhimsy/pseuds/FunAndWhimsy
Summary: Ferdinand is separated from the rest of the group after a mission and found by a group of bandits eager to take him down a peg or two.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Kinkmeme Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844062
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Put Away Wet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the FE3H kink meme ([original prompt](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=183772#cmt183772)). Note no age is specified in the fill, and thus no underage warning, but the prompter stated a preference for pre-timeskip Ferdinand.

Ferdinand reaches for his sword again; it's mere centimetres from his fingertips, if he just stretches, if he - ah! He is knocked forward by the force of another brutal thrust, but before he can take advantage another of the bandits steps on his hand. He only puts enough of his weight on it to make it clear he could break any number of Ferdinand's bones, at least, but it is hard to be grateful. Pain is pain and Ferdinand is being subject to an overwhelming amount of it, too much to appreciate that any of it is not as bad as it could be. He cries out, and though he remembers himself and cuts himself off abruptly the damage is done. 

"You sing real pretty, boy," says the man standing on his hand, balling up something in his fist, "but you were told to keep quiet."

"I - I did not, I apologize, I - ah!" It hurts so much every time he is - he is _fucked_ , his body making room anew for the bandit behind him each time. The gathered men laugh to hear him yelp, all but the one before him who rolls his eyes and grunts in clear annoyance. Ferdinand is still trying to draw breath to apologize again, as if he expects anyone here to listen to reason, when his own torn smallclothes are shoved rather roughly into his mouth. He gasps, and chokes a little, as his mouth is filled, and though the pain has not yet been enough to bring tears to his eyes the humiliation is. 

"Waste of a good hole, if you ask me," someone says, and the man using Ferdinand thrusts deep once again, his way made slicker each time by blood so it hurts marginally less. To think Ferdinand has fantasized about this, has wondered - but not like this, of course. Never, ever like this, rough hands and rougher treatment. The pain seems to echo in his chest, resonate all through him, and he drops to his elbows because holding himself up against it is getting too difficult to bear.

"He'd bite if you tried it now," says the man responsible for stuffing Ferdinand's mouth with filthy cotton. "We'll see how he feels after he's had a load or two."

Disgusting; Ferdinand squeezes his eyes shut, tries to will the tears not to fall, his weakness not to show. Every thrust of the cock inside him sends shockwaves through his body, and he is horrified to find himself growing hard as those shocks turn slowly, so slowly, from pain to pleasure. Against all sense he relaxes, some preservation instinct making it easier, and as he does it hurts less, or he adjusts more, and he is almost glad for his mouthful to muffle the change from grunts of pain to grunts of pleasure. What is _wrong_ with him, to enjoy this so? 

"Might not take that long," says the man fucking him, and Ferdinand can do nothing to get away as he reaches around to wrap his filthy fist around Ferdinand's hardening cock. "Look at him, he likes it."

Ferdinand shakes his head frantically, because of course he does not! His traitorous body is one thing but the pain, the humiliation - the man before him leans forward, puts more weight on Ferdinand's hand until the pain becomes nearly unbearable and fresh tears fall.

"Don't lie to us, boy," he says. "Isn't proper."

"He's not so proper either," says the man behind, and begins to stroke Ferdinand's cock with his tight, rough grip, neither entirely painful nor entirely pleasurable. He tries to rock his hips away from the too-tight hold, but that just pushes him more deeply onto the cock buried inside him, and trying to buck away from that just pushes his cock through the man's fist, so there is no escape. He is assaulted by sensation no matter how he moves but now that he has begun moving it is nearly impossible to stay still, to give up the illusion of choice between rock and hard place. Saints, what he must look like, what anyone who saw this might think of him!

After only a few more increasingly punishing thrusts, the man behind finally grunts and spills his disgusting seed deep inside Ferdinand, grinding his hips to ensure he empties himself fully. It stings against Ferdinand's abused flesh, and the warmth so deep inside him is - it is disgusting, Ferdinand knows, it is objectively disgusting, but his body is so confused by everything going on he almost finds it pleasant. He moans weakly when the man pulls out to leave him empty, again at the feel of come trickling from his hole, and there is another laugh from the gathered crew.

"There we go," says the man in front, and removes his foot from Ferdinand's hand as if he has earned some reward. He knows better than to try for his sword again, but the man kicks it farther out of reach anyway as another takes his place behind Ferdinand.

Ferdinand shakes his head again, bucks his hips forward, but he knows he has no power to stop what is coming, not unless he wants to be hurt or worse. The new man just laughs, delighted with his misery, and takes hold of Ferdinand's hips to drag him bodily backwards until he is speared on what seems to be a much larger cock than the one before. And he is less content than the one before to allow Ferdinand to hide his face in the ground; once he is fully seated he takes Ferdinand by the shoulders and hauls him upright, so he is spread over the man's lap and sinks down impossibly farther on his cock. Ferdinand throws his head back and cries into his filthy mouthful, a useless protest. 

"These noble boys all grow up around horses," says the deep voice behind him, and the man slaps Ferdinand's thigh to make him jump. "They know how to ride."

Another laugh, and Ferdinand is taken by the hips and lifted so high the man's cock nearly slips out of him, which - ah, Ferdinand is not an especially slight man, the _strength_ it must take to move him so freely is overwhelming. As is being pulled back down so quickly the breath is knocked out of him, and another slap to his thigh as if he is a reluctant horse with a trainer who does not know the trick is to be gentle. Ferdinand does not wish to see what comes after slapping, so he begins to move on his own, putting his horseman's thighs to disgusting use to bounce on a stranger's cock. 

The pain subsides more quickly this time, Ferdinand's body already getting used to this treatment, and this time he cannot hope to hide how his cock is stiffening from the sensation. He is on shameful display, every one of his weaknesses from his erection to the tears slipping down his cheeks shown to the gathered strangers in intimate detail. It is no longer possible to hope the noises he makes around his makeshift gag will sound as if they are grunts of pain, as visible as the evidence to the contrary is. 

"Knew you'd like that, sweetheart," says the man fucking him, and Ferdinand's entire body shakes at the pet name as if it is anything more than just another cruelty. It earns another laugh, low and rumbling, and a rough hand wrapped around his cock. It is too much and not enough all at once, a loose grip that is meant to tease, not satisfy, but that Ferdinand cannot escape as he rocks up and down, fucking himself. Fresh tears spring to his eyes and he moves faster, as if speed will help, as if help is what he wants. The rest of the men jeer and catcall but their words turn to nonsense in Ferdinand's ears, his focus narrowing only to the burn of a thick cock inside him and the tease of a big hand on his cock. He is going to come, and worse than that he _wants_ to come, needs it like the air he is struggling to take in through his sobs and the fabric in his mouth.

The man tightens his grip, finally, and Ferdinand is horrified by the urge to _thank_ him, suddenly grateful for his inability to speak. He can not possibly embarrass himself further but at least he is not able to try. Pleasure builds and builds in him, more intense than when in his shameful weakness he touches himself, and though he can feel it coming and is terrified, he can no more stop bouncing on the cock inside him than he could turn back time and avoid all this in the first place. He is not loud, when he comes, though he is not entirely silent, either, and he cannot catch his breath through the fabric of his smallclothes so he only sobs. He has barely finished emptying all over his own stomach and thighs when the man using him grunts, and bucks up so hard he nearly unseats Ferdinand, and adds to the mess inside of him while Ferdinand is still shaking from his own release. 

Ferdinand is pushed off the broad lap and onto the ground as soon as the man is finished, and in his clumsiness he falls flat, so dirt and leaves stick to the mess he has made of himself. As a point of pride he attempts to push back up to his hands and knees, but his arms are weak and his motivation is lacking so he simply lies there and waits to be taken again.

"Tired already?" asks a new man, taking his place behind Ferdinand, and even if Ferdinand wished to acknowledge him his hips are lifted and his body entered again before he can make a single sound. This is where he begins to lose track, where time blurs and the bodies begin to run together, where he loses track of when one man finishes and the next begins. He is sore, and he is exhausted, from the battle and the rough use, and he is filled and filled again and again, until he cannot move without more seed dripping out of him, until he can feel nothing but the thrust of cocks inside and the ache of his cock beginning to stiffen again too soon. He is laughed at, spat upon, scratched by blunt fingernails, taunted, and finally a hand winds into his hair and he is lifted to his knees, an awkward maneuver with a man still inside him.

The first man to use him stands before him, his cock hard once more, and he roughly yanks the gag from Ferdinand's mouth. It makes little difference, as Ferdinand is too hoarse to shout and his mouth so dry it might as well be full of cotton still, which, he supposes, is what they have been waiting for. Filthy fingers are pushed into his mouth, so far back he chokes, and slide back out again.

"He's dry," says the man, and one of the others responds, something that Ferdinand can not make out but that makes the rest laugh. The fingers return, this time to pry his jaw open, and Ferdinand realizes with horror only a split second before it happens that the man intends to spit in his mouth. He struggles to close his lips but he can not, can only take it as the first thick glob misses his open mouth but the second finds its target. More of those thick fingers, smearing the saliva around until Ferdinand's mouth is slick again, and then - no. No, he had known this was a possibility, but he had not considered - this man has been inside him, his cock has been somewhere unthinkable and Ferdinand will absolutely not - 

"Bite me and you're dead," he says, and thrusts nearly all the way to Ferdinand's throat in one swift motion. Ferdinand gags, and chokes, over and over, but the hand in his hair simply holds him in place, the man behind continues fucking him so he cannot move away, and as it becomes clear the choice is accept it or suffocate Ferdinand...accepts. He has, of course, never done this before, never anything like it, but as he understands suction is involved, and perhaps the faster he finishes his attacker the faster it will be over. So he closes his lips, and suckles, working his tongue along the underside of the disgusting flesh as much as he can, and is oddly gratified when the man above him moans, when the hand in his hair tightens.

Ferdinand is used from both ends, not at all gently, his cock still shamefully hard as he is pushed back and forth, always with one man buried to the root inside him. Balls slap against his thighs, and his chin, and their ugly groans blend together in a horrific chorus that Ferdinand is sure he will hear in his nightmares from now on. The man behind him comes, awkward and uncomfortable as full as Ferdinand already is, and soon the man in front follows, pushing his cock deep and spilling his vile seed down Ferdinand's throat. He pulls back before he is finished, so his spend coats Ferdinand's tongue and drips onto his lips, and laughs at the sight of him so thoroughly used.

He is thrown to the ground; the bandits dress and begin to file away. Their leader repeats the initial threat, reminds him of his school uniform and how easy it will be to find him if they need to, and they are gone, and the woods are still and silent again. Ferdinand does not know how long he lies there, bruised, exhausted, still aroused, mouth tasting of come and head spinning. There is a part of him that considers simply never rising to his feet, allowing the woods and the dangers within to claim him, but if he wished to die he could simply have resisted the bandits a little longer. So he stands, and pulls his trousers up, tossing his smallclothes into the trees. He'll need to burn these trousers, and his shirt is horribly ripped so that will have to go as well, but though his jacket is filthy from being thrown on the ground and trod upon it will be fine after a wash. Once he is dressed and has run his hands through his hair a few times to hopefully make it look merely disheveled, he looks to the sun, and to the moss on the trees, and begins to walk towards the monastery.


End file.
